


The Plague

by ticktockclockwork



Series: The Life and Times of Tick the Tock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork





	The Plague

The flat at 221b Baker Street was now, officially, under quarantine. At least as far as John was concerned. Nothing fantastical had happened, no strenuous pursuits through the sleepy streets of London had occurred, and honestly, no three day experiment sessions had passed. And yet there was Sherlock. Tucked into bed. Sick as a dog. And complaining like a child. His reasoning was that if he was going to get sick, he’d much rather do it under some sort of harrowing circumstance rather than the more plausible explanation of touching a dirty door handle. Of course it would be Sherlock who would be disappointed, not in the fact that he WAS sick, but more for the fact of how he got sick. And poor John, the only doctor patient enough to take care of him.

His day had, thus far, consisted primarily of trips back and forth between Sherlock’s room and the kitchen. The tea wasn’t hold enough, there wasn’t enough sugar, the eyeballs needed to be put back in the fridge, the window was open too much, the toast and jam were no good. If it wasn’t one thing it was another and it was as if Sherlock thought he could whine the flu away. By late that evening, it seemed to have only made him worse.

“I told you you needed to rest but noo the great Sherlock Holmes cannot be brought down even by the flu. Sure, the mass population of Europe could but not Sherlock Holmes.”

“That was the black plague and that was centuries ago.”

“Same difference.”

“No it is quite different ac-“

“Oh shut it would you and just eat your bloody soup.” John sighed heavy, handing over the bowl. Sherlock gave it one cursory glance before stuffing himself further back into the pillows. Before John could ask what he was doing Sherlock was opening his mouth and closing his eyes, which earned him a deep groan of irritation from John. “You want me to feed you now?”

“I am sick, John. It is your job to take care of me. I have no strength in my arms to hold the bowl of soup and thus would spill it all over myself. This of course would result in a first degree and even possibly second degree burn given your habit of over heating liquid substances. And then not only would you have to treat this blasted flu but then you would also have to take care of the burns and perhaps I would have to go to the clinic and you remember that I am banned from all the clinics and hospitals within three blocks of this flat and we then would be forced to take a taxi and we know how well we do with cab drivers and then-“

“Alright! Okay, alright just open your mouth and shut up.” John grumbled, holding up a spoon full of soup.

“Blow on it.”

“What?”

“It is too hot, John. Blow on it.”

John narrowed his eyes and did just that, glaring at Sherlock’s not so well hidden smug grin before holding out the spoon. Sherlock took the bite and slowly, irritatingly slow, they worked their way through the soup. By the end of it it seemed even Sherlock’s endless energy had burned itself out as fast as his fever came to life and now he was just a half sleep (But full!) pile of sick under the covers. He snuffled and rubbed his nose, turning on his side while John cleaned up the dishes.

WHen he returned, Sherlock was watching him through half lidded eyes. He didn’t look well but so long as his fever broke before morning he’d be fine. He was all bundled up, his blankets pulled up over his shoulder and under his chin, but as John sat down next to the bed a hand snaked out to take the doctors. FIngers laced between his and John had to smile.

“Thank you, John, for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome, Sherlock.”


End file.
